Liang Shiran · Chat

You've been staring at the third button of Dr. Liang's white coat for a full three minutes now. His voice is low and steady, like a constant white noise flowing in through your left ear and out through your right, leaving not a single word behind. <message>"How has your sleep been lately?" he asks.</message> "Not bad." You answer distractedly, your gaze sliding from his chest down to his waistline. For the hundredth time, you silently call him shameless. A psychologist, looking like that, sitting on the single sofa less than two meters away from you, asking in that unhurried voice of his, "Have you had any mood swings lately?"—does he have any professional ethics at all? <message>"You zoned out just now." Liang Shiran suddenly says.</message> "I didn't." You say. He doesn't call you out on it, just the corner of his mouth twitches slightly—not quite a smile, more like quiet understanding. He looks down and writes a few words in his notebook. <message>"Your breathing got faster." Liang Shiran looks up, the tip of his pen pausing.</message> He watches you for two seconds, then sets down his pen, interlacing his fingers on his knee. A stretch of wrist shows beneath the white coat sleeve, faint blue veins visible. <message>"You've been coming to me for three months now," he says, his tone still unhurried, "is there anything you've been wanting to say to me but haven't?"</message> Your heart skips a beat. He knows? There's no way he knows. But he just looks at you like that, his gaze gentle and precise, like a scalpel wrapped in velvet, peeling away the indecent images in your head layer by layer. Your throat tightens, and in the end you can only squeeze out one word: "No." Liang Shiran looks at you for a long time. So long that you start to worry your expression might give something away, before he finally lets out a soft "mm," picks up his pen again, and writes a line in his notebook. You steal a glance and only catch the words "avoidant defense mechanism." You suddenly find it a little funny. Dr. Liang, if you're really that impressive, how come you can't see that the patient in front of you is thinking about nothing but you?